The Internet, she is a cruel mistress, much like the Patagonian Love Monkey of zoosexual legend and ill repute. But I place her upon my hand, up to the knuckle, and spin her, spin her for my amusement.

For I am a jealous and terrible God -- a three-faced god, like Trimurti, Lugh, or one of the ones off Star Trek. I am Evil Oppressive Patriarch, and yet also Big Bald Bloke With A Computer. But most importantly, I am Internet Jesus, and this is my Sermon:

In the warm, musky twilights of far-off Malaysia, the kingfishers and bee-eaters give way to nightjars and owls, and the fireflies, or "kelip-kelip" as they are locally known, put on a dazzling light show. Thousands of these insects commence their fluorescent display, flashing on and off two or three times a second, some stationary, others circling around. In some trees a whole colony of fireflies will flash in absolute unison, hour after hour, in the manner of the lights on a Christmas tree. Male and female fireflies are both able to flash, but only the males flash in unison; the synchronised display serves to attract a mate. It is a vast conversation of light, powered by a controlled chemical reaction that takes place inside the light-producing organs on the underside of the abdomen.

It is deep in the night, here in Olde England. Chemicals surge down into my light-producing organs, tightly controlled until I am suffused with the purity of illumination. Who will be hypnotised by my nocturnal display? Who will join my conversation of light?

I worked at a record store for 5 hours on Wednesday while the owner went to a funeral. I've been part of his stable of stand-by workers for about 10 years.

It's a big drink & fireworks holiday here in my part of Finland today. I had forgotten about it until I saw colorful explosions through my window. But by then I felt it was too late to invite myself somewhere.

Gearing up for a migration to Virginia, been picking which books, clothes, tools, and whatnot I'll be taking with me, and what I'll be leaving to purgatory of my parent's house. Yet it doesn't feel at all like I'm about to uproot my life entirely. I suspect it won't until the morning I actually jump in the car and leave.

In other news: Addiction sucks, especially when you can't even blame it on brain chemicals.

I took it off. The week. And my underwear, but mainly the week. It is wonderful, to take it off. The week. And the underwear. But mainly the week, because I didn't have to worry about what would be the punchline to a daily webcomic strip and how many panels the build-up to it would require and how long it would take me to draw a bunch of mouthless, noseless glorified stick-figures no. I didn't have to worry about that at all. And I also don't have to worry about the underwear. That's good too.

I've made some Decisions this week. I must slow down to speed up. Simultaneously. Wait, this will make sense shortly: by reducing the webcomic to three times a week so I can work on all the other projects I've been neglecting. It's been quite a learning experience, to work on a daily webcomic. It's a shame the most important lesson to stem from it is that it's a fucking stupid, self-destructive and suicide-inducing thing to do for free. So, three times a week now. Everyone's happy. Actually, I am, and fuck everyone.

Tell me something filthy, strange and wonderful.

My mother just called to tell me about a headline she read in a piece of shit "newspaper" today. Apparently a woman was bitten by a snake in a motel. Not in a good way. In a literal way. There was in fact a snake nest below the bed. And according to my mother, this was an expensive and renowned motel.

Also, the woman was married, and so was the man. But not to each other.

I imagine the woman's husband reading the headline, laughing his ass off at the unnamed, unlucky slut, then his wife gets home with two bite marks on her neck.

The headline was that the woman suffered a "picadura" in a motel. This is a horrible Portuguese pun. It means a bite, but it sounds like "pica dura". Which means "hard cock".

I did mention it was a piece of shit "newspaper". Here's one of their frontpages:

The one on the left means "We caught the watermelon woman totally naked". Watermelon woman is a funk dancer.

This week I took a day off from writing and drawing to venture around the streets of central London. Savile Row, Whitechapel, Soho, The nine dials. Hundreds of neat books shops, restaurants, pubs, clubs and galleries all nestled in square mile radius. Every corner or alleyway led to a new discovery. I'm 30 and I've lived in london almost all my life but it's only now that I realise how much I've taken it for granted. Next time I'm to make some sketches and take some photos.While doing the london walk several story ideas came to me. Including one which I can only describe as a grindhouse of several genres. I spent most of the evening in the Montigue Pyke trying to nail the plot down while drinking a Welsh single malt. Smooth as hell, but I can't for the life of me remember its name.It's a strange thing thinking of myself as a writer and actually doing the work. I feel like at any moment, someone's going to tap my on the shoulder and call me out as being a fraud.Is that normal?

It's been awfully quiet around my place this week. All the kids' classes start up soonish, but not yet. So there's this sort of slack time. I'm enjoying the hell out of it. Today, for school, my son built a gravitational motor from a kit, and then watched a documentary on the evolution of tank warfare. He's either going to be a superhero or a supervillain. He's six.

On Thursday my gaming group kicked off our new GURPS steampunk adventure. It was well received, I think, but that may have been the Indian food and the wine.

Tell me something filthy, strange and wonderful.

I appear to be writing a novel. I'm 7000 words in and have no idea what I'm doing. But, but, but -- but here's the thing. I will NEVER write a novel if I don't write one. So here's the first one. It's likely crap, and I'm okay with that. (I'm not counting the NaNoWriMo novel I did a couple years back. That one doesn't have an ending, just 50,000 words in sequence.) Believe me, this is filthy and strange and wonderful.

In other news, I realized this week that the reason I like the music of Holst is that it reminds me of John Williams' score to Indiana Jones.

When I lived in Costa Rica, one day my partner and I treked down the valley, past the waterfall, to the home of a woman who had been a schoolteacher in the plateau many years ago. This was for my partner's graduate school research. She was going to interview the woman about, hmm, I can't recall what now. I don't remember the interview. I remember that the kitchen was spacious, dusty, and that all the windows were open wide to catch the breeze from further down the mountain. I remember walking across the pasture and looking out to see the Pacific Ocean, miles away and thousands of feet below. I remember walking back to our hovel, the endless dust-covered trudge up the rutted roads in jeans, of all the stupid things to wear, the straps of the equipment backpack chafing against my shoulders.

But I also recall the white-faced monkeys chittering along the sides of the road.

They were monkeys. Small, filthy pests, honestly. They gathered in the guayaba trees and ate the small fruit, spilling rinds on the ground. But at one point a small family scampered through the branches to my left, racing ahead of us in our trudge, and then jumped across the road to the guayaba on the other side. Monkeys. Right there, in front of me, likely about to pelt me with garbage for fun. I'd never seen anything quite so beautiful.

Week at work just shot by. Out of work, creative juices are at a low ebb again. I've got a couple of projects on the back burner, but I'm not feeling desperate yet about feeling uninstpired. I spent much, much too much time fiddling about with my home Linux systems, and watching DVRd TV programs.

Good Things:

Oregon summer is at peak wonderfulness. Evenings are just jaw-droppingly lovely. Tonight I'm going to give the dog a really long walk at dusk.

I got a royalty check for some stuff I wrote 25 years or more back. $52 and change. I'm buying a paid Flickr membership.

Taken just now on my balcony:That's a rocket. I'm not happy to see you.

I landed in Rome, started a nasty habit of an iced cappuccino at about 7:30 a couple hours before anything starts so I can play some videogames in relative peace before anyone else wakes up.

Tonight: I finally decided I'd figure out the Roman subway and Metro system on my own, outside the comfort of a group of students. I decided I wanted to find a particular bar. So, I turned my headphones up, walked out the door and fucking did it. Sure, I walked around in circles for 30 minutes before finding the address only to see that the place is closed for renovations (I think, my Italian isn't real good) and I didn't get drunk, but hey, I proved to myself that I can get around in a city with a shaky grasp of the language and a map.

It's a start. God, I wish I could post pictures. Looking at the orange moon over the Ponte Principe bridge (I think.) was magical. Anyway.

Mr. Ellis: Your influence was indirect, as I just thought man, I wouldn't have even thought to go to this particular bar with no one around me and no working cell phone in a city where I can't speak the language, but hey, if nothing else, I've learned from comics that the adventure is as important (if not moreso, in some cases) than the destination.

@AlanMan, one day at a time with that stuff. It takes guts to admit you have a problem and then work on it. Don't think about the mountain, just put one foot in front of the other. Keep it up.

Internet Jesus, I will be glad to make the proper sacrifice to thank you for how good you've been. Just let me know what sacrifice I need to make, and it will be done. I would go steal a turkey from a neighboring farm and slay it over an altar in your name, but something about that idea feels too feeble. Also, something tells me that my new vegetarian roommate would not appreciate it.My week has been delightful. Moved in last week to the apartment, ready to go back to school. I was worried at first. But so far, the living situation has been pleasant, and my roommates certainly aren't the worst I've ever had. The biggest worry of all was the money situation, and I had no clue how to fix that.Fortunately, on Monday night I went to the college's studio to do some artwork, and my favorite teacher I've ever had (I took drawing 1 and 2, 2D design, and printmaking 1 and 2 from him) came in to visit with me while I was working. He offered me a job as Gallery Assistant, one of only 2 jobs for students in the art department, and in my opinion, the better one. I get to help students put up shows every week in the student-run gallery, among other things. That's the biggest part of the job I know. I'm especially excited about the other big part, which is letting the other art majors into the studio after hours, because it means I have keys to the building. I'll have a hard time not spending every waking hour there now that I don't have to call anyone to let me in, I imagine.I think the best part of all this is that my teacher went out of his way to get me the job, and not give it to someone else who may have asked sooner. He knew I'd be the best person for it. Hard work does pay off sometimes. I would've been happy with any job, but instead I got the best one possible for me.Another few little things:Number one, I can bypass this apartment complex's internet filter now. So I can look at Zoetica's website again. That was the most annoying thing for it to block. Just nice overall not having to deal with that.Number two, a friend gave me 4 cds worth of pretty ambient music, one of which is a massive mp3 cd. I hadn't seen him since the farewell of the boy I won't complain about this time. It was nice to see someone that knew who he was, and that could verify I didn't just dream everything up.Number three, the boy that I said goodbye to this summer has an artist for a father, and he's our first lecturer for the visiting artist class. So I get to see another person that verifies I didn't dream those days.Last little thing, despite a bit of confusion and lost paperwork, my scholarship went through so I don't have to pay tuition again this year. I was told it would months ago, then there were problems. But I got to feel that relief all over again this week. Lovely.Certainly has been a strange and wonderful week, although I am short on the filthiness you requested. I apologize, my dear Patagonian Love Monkey.

My sister is coming back from New Zealand two years early because apparently there is no work there for hot shot project managers. This is wonderful news because I love her but at the same time she will be leaving in July which means I have to set a date for my wedding before she leaves and I had been living in happy denial about the whole needing a wedding to be married thing. Not that weddings are bad per se but my main impression of them is "horrifically expensive and stressful" not "fun".

I spent the day at my grandmother's 90th birthday party. You wouldn't expect that to be fun but it sort of was, not least because it turns out memory loss isn't always hideously depressing, sometimes it's kind of funny. I mean that in a loving way. I'm not an animal.

@JECole I think that is normal. I am technically a professional photographer now, a fact that I find laughable. I even had to write "technically" in there just to make myself feel better.

Pretty hellish week. Back at work after holiday, thought I'd at least have a couple of weeks of reasonable energy before the zombie commuter death spiral kicked in for real, I got one day. Then it was back to sleeping through alarm, skipping breakfast, burning into the station car park, crashing out on the train while trying to watch or read something, then stumbling off, blinking and sleep-drunk at Waterloo. Then trying to get through all the crap at work (and there's been rather a lot this week), and staggering home 14 or so hours later, showering, battling to get the kids to bed, then sleep and repeating until Friday hits.

I'm hugely fortunate to have a decent job and a reasonable standard of living for my family, I know that, but this is bloody well killing me, physically and mentally. I can't read anymore, don't have the concentration or ability to keep from dozing off, don't see how I could break out of it. Photography and music have gone out of the window. And then I look around at everyone else who's doing the same thing, scrabbling around to keep things together, in far far greater hardship and worse circumstances. And then I get angry and upset at the stupidity of our society and systems, that those at the top can get rich by keeping others down - in minimum wage jobs, in crap housing, with no hope and no prospects. And upset that we have a government of obnoxious, reptilian evil cunts. Yes, they replaced a government of authoritarian, incompetent cunts, but they weren't quite as awful. These bastards should be forced to make announcements with no trousers on, so that the public can see that they get stonking hard-ons every time they talk about public sector cuts.

Today I've tried to fight back against my own incapability/exhaustion/depression - strangely it lifted for a bit yesterday, and I've managed to clean the car, cut the hedges and grass, iron three weeks worth of shirts, go shopping for vast amounts of vitamins to try and jumpstart my flagging corpse.

Tonight I've got whisky and two more days of weekend (bank holiday Monday).

Tell me something filthy, strange and wonderful

I was innocently ironing, when my partner started going on about childbirth and subsequent incontinence/slackness (not that she's, eh, ever had problems). The conversation went kind of downhill and reached rock bottom when she said 'Hey, my grandma had a prolapsed uterus, imagine that.' I didn't really want to.

Well, I spent a while looking for the right Personal Messiah. It's not easy, they've all got their plusses and minuses. I read their sacred texts, listened to their prophecies, watched their followers, weighed it all up. But none of the others offered Patagonian Monkey Love, so that was really what clinched it.

The project I'm on simply refuses to end, although there's a hard deadline coming up where we simply have to down tools and live with it, warts and all. That means working Sunday and the bank holiday (although I do get those days added back as holiday, which is nice). To be honest I'm frankly sick of the whole thing now, but having actually got a chance to play a bit of the near finished game now it's annoying me by being actually quite good. Certainly far better now it's all together than it's ever looked to me from my small bit of the overall picture.

I think that's probably what I hate most about these big team videogame projects. You never get a chance to see what anyone else is doing, never get a sense of how it's hanging together, so quite often you've no idea if the game is shite or great until it's pretty much finished. Starting to feel a little envy for old colleagues who've already bailed to go make iPhone apps instead.

It's starting to feel like the whole way in which the games industry does its thing is on the cusp of completely changing. I used to think I'd be doing the same kind of work for my whole career, but now I'm not so sure the market can sustain the huge teams needed to make these epic megagames, and I don't really have a plan for what to do next with my life.

In terms of the filthy, the women's rugby world cup is taking place at the sports centre near the office, and so the bar in there that we sometimes go to for a quiet pint after work has been rammed full of many female rugby players and their fans. There may have been vuvuzelas.

It started Sunday with the final day of Wizard World Chicago, an event that many people had doubts about but that was -- at least for me and my friends in Artist Alley -- simply marvelous. In the four or so years since I began exhibiting/guesting at comics shows, this was my most successful con.

Monday was a day off from work, the highlight of which was a semiannual physical. Despite being 39 and admittedly overweight, the doc says I'm in good health. Huzzah.

Tuesday through Friday were an absolute blur at work. It's campaign season here in the US, and I'm covering a congressional race, a statehouse race and a county board race -- on top of all my usual beats. And there was a lot going on this week for some reason. Typically I'll write 1-2 news stories a day. Tuesday I wrote four. Wednesday I wrote five. Thursday I wrote three. Friday I slacked off and did two. That's something around 150 column inches of copy.

I managed to squeeze in some comics writing. I'm nearly done with the script for "L'ange de Bastogne," and the artist I'm working with is very happy with what he's seen so far.

Tonight I hope to slip off to a local bar for some scotch and some more writing.

My week was filled with the usual hustling for chump change. August has felt like a bit of slog for some reason. Mailed my copy of the "Notebooks of Anton Chekhov" to New Jersey for my cyber-friend's birthday (he's of Russian descent). In it, you can see how, in one sentence, the seed of the entire story is enfolded.

Playing a private party tonight and looking forward to the free drink and grub that go along with that kind of gig.

Listened to icaros all day long and then had to venture out to purchase a replacement shower-head at the local big box store, where I milled about with my fellow consumers, a kind of psychedelic experience in its own right. Dr. Girlfriend is camping so there's a little bit more room to indulge in my signature brand of brooding this evening.

Attended this little event today called AleFest, a gathering of over a hundred different breweries offering samples of their wares. It was magnificent. Warm weather, a shit-ton of beer, luxurious soft pretzels, and an incalculable number of cute girls in tanktops. What more could a person ask for.

But now I am exhausted from the heat and beer, and so tonight I shall stay in, read a bit, maybe watch a movie.